Chapter Nineteen
L iz couldn’t believe her eyes.
Trouble’s house was…beautiful!
And she and Erika were living there for however long it took Trouble to deal with the Russian threat.
Maybe two days—
Maybe forever!
Liz bit her lip to shut that thought right the fuck up. No matter how yummy Trouble looked, nor how many times he made her think of when they were once together, the man she knew now was not the same man she fell in love with…because that man didn’t exist.
And she had to remember that.
That afternoon, after Tessa and nurse Janine helped her dress, Trouble and strolled into the room, a victorious smirk on his gorgeous face—a face with profanely sexy lips and sparkling green eyes, both of which made her belly flutter. Angry at her own reaction to seeing him, she’d wanted to smack that smirk right off, but something told her that he’d enjoy that too much, the asshole. So, instead, she’d glowered at him, barked that she was ready to go, then glowered some more when he grinned down at her from where he was pushing her wheelchair down the corridors to the entrance, where he said his “cage” was waiting.
Trouble was gentle as he helped her into his truck, his large hand gripping her arm, the other spanning her hip and her waist. The heat from his palm, and the brushing of her fingers over her body, turned those flutters from earlier into Olympic gymnasts, tumbling and flipping through her like they were doing a floor routine en masse . She didn’t need to look to know his smirk was wider, she could practically feel his arrogant mirth—he liked how he was affecting her! Then he was solicitous as he drove them out of the hospital parking lot, making sure she was comfortable in her seat before he even put it in drive. She didn’t miss that he often cast a glance at the rearview and side mirrors, probably watching to see if they were being followed. And when he wasn’t glancing into the mirrors, he was casting his glance her way, as though he were making sure she was really there or not tensing to throw herself from a moving vehicle—and she didn’t know what to make of how white his knuckles were. Was it the tension from the possibility of being followed? Or something else?
He’d even offered to order Gino’s pizza and pick it up on their way through town, but she— gasp! —told him no. Not surprisingly, she wasn’t all that hungry; her anxiety levels were making her stomach revolt at the idea of cheese and greasy pepperoni—no matter how good it would taste going down, it wouldn’t taste nearly as good coming up.
Being trapped with Trouble in the enclosed cabin of his massive Ram truck was a study in how to breathe without inhaling—because the cabin was filled with the scent of leather, bergamot, and rich whiskey. Trouble’s scent hadn’t changed in ten years; it still had the ability to make her mouth water, her breasts swell, and her pussy throb. Back when they were together, it took one whiff of him for her to salivate for a bite of him, like Pavlov’s dog, ravenous for a taste of what smelled so fucking good.
Now, though, that scent was so heavy in the air between them—just like the tense silence—she couldn’t take a breath. She wanted to open the window, but she knew the asshole would guess why—he’d always been more perceptive than the average man. She assumed it was something he’d picked up during his years in the Army; one had to be perceptive, intuitive, and aware to survive mostly unscathed in enemy lands.
Enemy lands…like his house, where she was staying with her daughter.
Blinking out through the windshield, Liz took in the house once again.
It was a single-story, single-family home, in one of the older neighborhoods. There was a short driveway that led from the main road, that ended at a two-car garage, but Trouble didn’t park in there.
“What do you think?” he asked. There was a tautness to his voice that told her he was worried. About what she thought of his house? “It isn’t much—”
She shook her head. “No, no,” she blurted, an unreasonable need to assuage his concerns rising so quickly and strongly, her hand automatically reached for his forearm, which was pressed against the wheel. His flesh was warm and smooth beneath her touch. She didn’t pull away…and neither did he. Her body filled with something…warm, when she noticed the tension in his body loosening, just a tad, under her hand. She refused to wonder about that warming sensation, since she wasn’t supposed to care about him. With that thought in mind, she snatched her hand back, ignoring the twinge in her side at her careless movements. Immediately, his lost tension returned. She cleared her throat. “It looks great, Trouble. Honestly, it’s better than I thought it would be.”
Despite the tension in his large, rock-hard body, Trouble’s eyes danced, and he smirked once again. “Were you picturin’ a shack?”
She snorted, rolling her eyes dramatically. “No, but I wasn’t picturing this, either. I don’t know, I figured a single guy who spends most of his time at a biker clubhouse wouldn’t really… you know …have a house . I figured you’d have a crash pad in an apartment complex or something.”
His lips pursed like he wanted to say something, but he just gently shook his head, exhaling on a sigh.
“I get that; a single man rarely needs a house; a crash pad is more than good enough for most ,” he admitted carefully, his eyes losing a bit of their sparkle. Liz didn’t miss the “for most” part, and wondered what set him apart from “most.” Trouble cleared his throat, then there was a moment of heady silence before he continued. “I bought this place six years ago as in investment. It was an old meth house the city condemned back when they were crackin’ down on drug dens. I got it for way under market value, and then pumped some money, and blood, sweat, and tears into it. It ain’t fancy like your condo, but it’s good enough for me…and my family.” His gaze was pinned to her, penetrating, the bright green darkened to a pine—deep, fathomless, and breathtaking, like a sudden plunge into haunted woods. And it wasn’t just the color that arrested her lungs, it was also the emotion she saw within them.
There, in the depths of his green, green eyes…she saw yearning.
Swallowing, she ignored what he’d said about “his family,” choosing to put that conversation off for as long as possible. She forced a smile, and gazed at the house once more.
“Well, let’s see it,” she declared with an enthusiasm she didn’t feel.
Come on, you can do this. It’s just Trouble’s home, no big deal.
And it was a home.
It took grit to let Trouble help her from the truck, his hands reaching up to span her waist and help her down. Once her feet touched the ground, though, his left hand stayed on her waist, only sliding around to press against the small of her back. Shivers shuddered through her, making her nipples hard. God, she was thankful that he wasn’t looking at her right then.
He’s only leading you to the house...and making sure you remain steady. He isn’t touching you because he can’t not .
Her thoughts were all over the place when Trouble unlocked the door and stepped aside to let her through the door first.
Her breath stuck in her throat as her eyes took in Trouble’s…home.
It was an open concept with the small living room, dining room, and kitchen connected. A long marble peninsula separated the dining room and kitchen, but the kitchen still looked open and airy. It helped that there were two skylights in the ceiling over the kitchen, letting in brilliant sunlight that glinted off the brushed silver finishes on the cabinets and the stainless-steel appliances.
The living room was cozy, with a single brown leather couch, and a dark blue Lazy Boy recliner facing the 70” TV mounted on the wall over an entertainment center that was basically bare aside from some thick manuals for motorcycle repair, and some custom motorcycle magazines. Surprisingly, there wasn’t a speck of dust anywhere.
As if reading her mind, Trouble offered, “Daisy comes to clean once a week. I pay her.”
Daisy was one of the clubwhores—one of the nicer ones, but she was still one woman that Trouble, no doubt, fucked.
Did he fuck her in this house?
“I haven’t fucked her here,” he said, his voice coming from right behind her. She tensed, hating that not only had he read her mind once again, but that she cared enough to be even slightly jealous.
She flapped her hand with forced nonchalance. “I don’t care who you fuck, as long as you don’t do it around Erika.”
She could feel the whole of his massive body turn to stone.
He leaned down until his mouth brushed against her ear, his chest against her back, and growled, “First, I will never do anythin’ in front of our daughter that you wouldn’t. Believe that. I might not have been her father the last almost ten years, but I am now, and I plan to make sure neither of you have complaints. That said, I have never fucked a woman in this house. I only let them in here to clean and grab some clothes for me if I need to leave for club business in a hurry. Aside from Daisy cleanin’, Fae, Tessa, and Skathi have been here, but that’s it.”
Liz swallowed, hating how her body wanted to lean back, melt into the heat of his body.
“And as for you not carin’ about who I fuck….” He chuckled darkly, wickedly, and her body responded with a blast of heat, awakening that slut in her panties. Her breath caught on his next words, “That’s done. There are no other women, because I only need one. You .” He brushed his lips over that spot right under her ear, the spot he knew would make her purr. “You and me…we’re happenin’. I messed up, Liz, I know that. But I’m not that same man I was, baby. I’ll show you that we’re meant to be together, and when I do, you will be the only one I’m fuckin’. For the rest of my life.”
Then, his heat was gone, and she was left standing there, staring into the living space, her body trembling, her heart racing, her mind in turmoil. Anger wrestled with desire, and they both grappled with wariness. But before she could scream or rage or throw herself at him like a hussy, he called, “Let me show you to your room.”
You and me…we’re happenin’….
We’re meant to be together….
The only one I’m fuckin’….
Hell, the man was certifiable if he believed any of the shit he was saying.
But that thought did nothing to snuff out that flickering ember deep inside her, the one she’d foolishly believed she’d doused completely years ago.
Unable to get herself together enough to put her thoughts in order, she had just enough mental energy to put one foot in front of the other.
She’d deal with the crazy shit he said later. Much, much later.
She followed him down a hallway to a room on the right.
Trouble stepped through the doorway first.
The bedroom was on the small side, just big enough for a single bed, a small three drawer dresser, and a closet. It was all she needed, really.
She wouldn’t be there long.
At least that’s what she was telling her pussy, which wanted to sit on Trouble’s now smirking face.
Ignoring her pussy and Trouble’s annoying, knowing expression, she stepped into the room, noticing her duffel bag on the bed.
“Hawk and Fae grabbed some stuff for you and Erika. I put her bag in the room across the hall. Come on, I’ll show you.” With that, he stepped out of the room, took two long strides, and walked into a room about the same size as hers. It also had a single bed, but this one was covered in a pink and purple comforter that looked like a glitter wizard had thrown up unicorns all over it.
Erika was going to love it.
Liz couldn’t stop her grin even if she wanted to.
“Looks like Fae had fun shopping,” she said, then turned to look at Trouble…who was blushing. Liz’s mouth dropped open.
He raised a hand to rub at the back of his neck, Liz’s eyes tracking the unfamiliar movement. Was Trouble…sheepish? Was he…uncomfortable? Was he…nervous about what she would think? As she stared at him, her mouth hanging open, the blush deepened, his gaze dropping to the floor.
Holy shit, the big bad biker VP was… nervous ?
Warmth filled her, spilling over and drowning the remnants of her anger and turmoil from that scene in the living room. However, the desire was still there…still potent. Still alive.
“Um, actually, that was me,” Trouble admitted, dropping his hand. A smile she’d never seen before curved his lips, and the blush on his cheeks shifted to a glow of humor. And, Lord, those dimples sure were deep and devastating, weren’t they? “It was either the unicorns or Taylor Swift—and there ain’t no way I’m havin’ that shit in my house.”
Oh. My. God. That did it.
Liz threw her head back and laughed.